Trapped
by CycloneT
Summary: Trust me. We’re perfectly safe here. [SheppardWeir]


Title: Trapped  
Author: Cyclone  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Trust me. We're perfectly safe here.  
Category: Future fic.  
Disclaimer: The usual applies here. Don't own, don't sue.  
Notes: Hello, my name is Cyclone and I'm a shameless fluff 'ho. So consider yourself warned. If fluff isn't your thing, then you'll probably want to click the 'back' button . . . now.  
Shane, thanks again. 

XxX

Elizabeth couldn't believe they had been reduced to seeking refuge in a closet. There were a million other places in the city where they could have hidden. A million other places that would have given them a much better chance of evasion. As an Air Force colonel and Atlantis' ranking military officer, John should have made a better choice than what was in all likelihood an indefensible closet. He should have had a detailed list of safe spots for just this kind of emergency. At the very least he should have chosen somewhere that had a back door escape. Once the situation was resolved – either way – she intended on having a long and serious talk with him about his responsibilities.

Until then, she'd just have to keep her fingers crossed and hope for the best. So far they'd been lucky, but she had an uncomfortable feeling their luck couldn't last forever. They were far too vulnerable where they were; if discovered, they would well and truly be trapped. "They're going to find us," she whispered, feeling the need to point out their perilous situation again.

John shook his head confidently. At least, she thought it was confidently. It was a little hard to tell in the dark. "No they're not. They'll never think to look here after last time."

Elizabeth snorted. "It won't take them long to figure out that we tricked them, and then you know as well as I do that we're dead."

"Elizabeth, trust me. We're perfectly safe here."

"Safe? You know what they're like, John. It's like they can sense us. Or smell us. We should move before they –"

"They'll never look here," he interrupted. "Just relax."

Relax. Right. Even though she knew he couldn't see it, she rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say. I'm the one with the hanger wedged up my butt."

She thought she heard him mutter _lucky hanger,_ but before she could call him on it he'd manoeuvred her around until he found the offending clothes hanger and removed it. "There. Problem solved," he said calmly.

Except the problem wasn't really solved at all, because now not only was she was trapped in a dark closet and pressed up against a more than likely grinning colonel (who was wearing her favourite cologne, she might add), she was trapped with a man who didn't seem to understand the concept of personal boundaries.

"I knew this was a bad idea," she sighed, and tried to ignore what his hands were doing.

"I knew this was a _good_ idea," he replied, and edged even closer.

"John."

"What?"

"Bad idea. Stop it."

"Elizabeth, we're alone in the dark. _Alone_. If we can't take advantage of the situation we may as well give up now and be done with it."

He had a point. But knowing he had a point and allowing him to continue what he was doing were two very different things.

"Hey!" she objected when his fingers unbuttoned her shirt and his hands slid underneath. Although to be honest, it wasn't really an objection to his hands so much as it was to the thought that just occurred to her. "Did you get me into the closet for the express purpose of feeling me up?"

"Among other things," he admitted.

"John!"

His hands slipped inside her bra and his lips grazed her neck. "What?"

She really had nothing, and he knew it. "I guess when in Rome," she muttered, and gave up and joined in the fun. A little while later – she had no idea of exactly how much time had elapsed; John and his tricks had a habit of doing that to her – she was startled by the sound of muffled footsteps.

She stopped playing with his mouth and cocked her head to the side. "They're coming," she whispered.

"Scared, Elizabeth?"

"Scared of the state they might find us in if you keep doing that," she retorted under her breath.

"You think it might scar them?"

"Did it scar you when you found your parents having sex in the closet?"

"I never found my parents having sex in the closet."

"Exactly. And you're relatively normal. So unless you want your boys in therapy for the next 30 years, I suggest you re-button my shirt and keep your hands to yourself."

"As soon as you take _your_ hands out of my pants, I will."

They only just managed to re-zip and re-button each other before the closet door burst open and the boisterous shouts of 'got you!' caused temporary damage to their eardrums.

End.


End file.
